


dying is easy (living is harder)

by NaomiGnome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I am not known around here for angst, I hope, Rape/Non-con Elements, but here i am, this ends happy I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25065961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiGnome/pseuds/NaomiGnome
Summary: Locke seemed to ponder her words for a moment before smiling lasciviously at her, “I’ve never been with a knight before. Don’t think I’ve ever been with someone as pretty as him either.” He turned away then, to walk toward where they had restrained Jaime. No.No.She swore an oath to Lady Catelyn to return Jaime Lannister safely to King’s Landing in exchange for her daughters.Safely.She would fail again. As she had failed her father. Renly. Catelyn, now. And Ser Jaime--“Gold!” she shouted.Brienne loses her sword hand. She learns to fight again from the best swordsman in Westeros.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	dying is easy (living is harder)

**Author's Note:**

> I should put upfront that my grasp on canon (TV or otherwise) is shaky at best, and my memory refuses to access it again. I don't particularly care about the politics in Game of Thrones, but I think I kept in the important bits? This is just a lot of hurting and a lot of comforting. 
> 
> I was in my feels. Title ripped from Hamilton; it felt appropriate.

Brienne wondered what led to this. Being tied to this tree, staring at Jaime Lannister’s beaten form and the crackle of fire and laughter of Locke’s men far off but still too close. And getting closer. She could feel every hair on her body stand on end as Locke’s men approached the trees they were chained to, lecherous smiles carved into their faces. 

Her stomach was empty, but she could feel the bile rise in her throat. Locke’s eyes raked over her, every instinct screaming to run. His companions hovered close by, waiting for something. For Locke. He grasped Brienne’s face in one palm, Brienne twisted her neck to shake loose, but to no avail. She looked frantically away, anywhere but Locke. From the corner of her eye, she could see Ser Jaime, watching with an expression of growing uneasiness wrinkled into his forehead. 

“Bah,” Locke spat in her face, “I wouldn’t be able to get it up for her. Even a man with needs would not be able to get it up for the aurochs.” He let go of her face and she resisted spitting back. 

Locke turned to Ser Jaime. “But _you_ ,” his eyes gleamed maliciously as Jaime came to attention, like a cat raising its hackles, “If I stuck my cock in you, Kingslayer, well, you will have been the prettiest thing I’ve ever fucked.”

He ran his tongue along a dirty row of his teeth. Brienne could fill her stomach curdle. Jaime sat even straighter, muscles tensed, she could see them through the pale sickness of his skin. His voice rang clear and deadly, “I am Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. You’ve been commanded to return me to King’s Landing. You will not do what I believe you are implying.”

Locke laughed an ugly thing, “I’ve been _commanded_? I’m doing this for your father, as a favor. And you should know what they say about Lannisters. I’m under orders to bring you alive, no one said shit about whether or not your precious little rosebud stays untouched.” He licked his teeth again before turning to his cronies, “Take him over there, where it's dark, so the Kingslayer and I can have some privacy. You lot can have your turn when I’m done.”

Vile. It was vile. Brienne watched in mortification as he growled and yelled as Locke’s men wrangled him up. One punched him square in the stomach. Another across the face. He fought and fought until a light passed in his eyes and he went limp. He stopped fighting and they dragged him off into the dark. It was vile. She knew the rumors, that he had dragged his cloak and honor through the mud, killed his king, laid with his sister, but no one deserved this. No one--

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she hissed over at Locke. “ _He’s the son of your proprietor_. He’s the son of Lord Tywin _Lannister._.” 

“Of course, I know, you big ugly cunt.” 

“Then you know it would be dishonorable to--” Brienne could not even summon the words, “ _dishonor_ him in such a fashion.”

Locke seemed to ponder her words for a moment before smiling lasciviously at her, “I’ve never been with a knight before. Don’t think I’ve ever been with someone as pretty as him either.” He turned away then, to walk toward where they had restrained Jaime. No. _No._ She swore an oath to Lady Catelyn to return Jaime Lannister safely to King’s Landing in exchange for her daughters. _Safely._ She would fail again. As she had failed her father. Renly. Catelyn, now. And Ser Jaime--

“Gold!” she shouted. 

Locke turned back to her. Behind him the men had stilled. 

“Gold!!” she shouted again. “Your Lord! Lord Tywin ordered you to bring him back, with reward, no doubt. Lannisters,” she strained toward where Jaime was being restrained. Jaime’s eyes flickered in the cast of moonlight.”Lannisters always pay their debts. You think Tywin will reward you if he finds out? There need not even be public news. Gold! He has gold enough to make you rich, and gold enough to make you disappear. My Lord, think of the gold.”

The men behind Locke began to shift uneasily. Locke himself looked disgruntled. He called out, “Bring him back here!” 

Brienne’s breathing evened slightly, she had not even realized how heavily her chest had been heaving. They tied Jaime back to the tree across from her, the glow of green had returned to them, and he was staring at her with something akin to astonishment. 

“You called me 'my lord',” Locke commented, “Are you highborn?”

Brienne answered shakily, “Yes, my lord, I am Brienne of Tarth. Sole heir of Selwyn Tarth.” 

“Untie her, and bring her to the table here.” Locke nodded to his men. 

Brienne had begun to shake. No. _No._ Locke cackled, “No fear, my lady Brienne of Tarth. You’re a highborn, I only mean to feed you. Someone as big as you is probably starving by now.” 

Brienne merely swallowed in response. But the men untied her and led her by the chains to a table. She held her head high. She would not be brought down by men such as these.

Brienne was kicked roughly to the ground. Fingers dragged her by her hair to a wide tree stump. She held her hands in front of her and braced as the men held her face down to it. The wood of the stump cut into her cheek, as Locke’s face appeared next to hers. 

“All you highborn are the same. You shout gold, or rubies, or sapphires, thinking that all the riches you were born bathing in will fix your problems. _My lady_ ,” his tone was mocking and hateful as he pressed a blade lightly against the top right of her lip, “a maiden such as yourself doesn’t know the cost of flesh. You can live your life as you fancy, a lady in a castle or playing pretend as a knight in the woods. But,” he breathes then, deep and rancid in Brienne’s face, “sooner or later, reality catches all of us. Even the highborn.” He drew the knife away, blood dribbled from the cut. “Here’s your reminder.”

The knife came down. Her hand stopped trembling. Someone was screaming. Was there a woman among these men? Who was screaming? Everything hurt. Everything burned. 

*****

_A dream. No, a memory._

_It is the beach on Tarth, where she used to swing her wooden sword. She could feel the sand between her toes, as easily as she could recall the cool touch of wood in her hand. Here, everything is right. Here, she is a knight._

_“Father,” it’s a low voice for a child, her voice, but there is mirth in it. A pitch of childlike fearlessness. “Father, look!” A smaller, but still tall and unseemly, version of her is waving the wooden sword around in smooth, practiced motions._

_“I may not be suited for ladylike ventures! I may be ugly, and tall.” This small version of her declares, “But I can wield a sword! And as long as I can wield a sword, I can do anything! I can bring honor to you. To me! I can serve kings and rescue maidens! As long as I can wield a sword, there is hope for me yet!”_

_A memory. No, a dream._

*****

“Wench,” Jaime’s voice whispered, so softly and low that Brienne thought she was dreaming still. “ _Brienne_ , what are you doing?”

“Dying,” it was a hoarse whisper in return. A phantom of her voice.

“Wench, you cannot die.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Kingslayer, I am not sworn to you. I will die.”

“Are you so craven?” 

Brienne blinked rapidly. Craven? Stupid, maybe. Ugly and broad, for certain. But craven? No one had ever called her such a thing. 

“I cannot fulfill my quest. I will have died trying.”

“You aren’t dead yet, wench. You have your oath, remember? That thing you vowed so passionately? _So, live._ ”

She was not dead yet. She was still sworn to Lady Catelyn. She still had an oath. She still--

_She would live._

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
